I'm taking the day off from editing . . . switching my focus to preparing for next weekend's writing retreat. First, I'll spend an hour in a yoga class; then I'll turn my attention to Carruth and Kenyon. Work but also refreshment. 

This time last year I was meeting my Monson Arts kids. That all seems so far away now.

Now, on this dark Friday morning, Paul is sleeping hard after working late slinging pizzas. Tom is rattling his coffee cup, hanging up his towel, putting on his shoes. I am girding my loins to answer a publisher's email regarding my NPS manuscript: a willingness to read it, no promises, but not chasing me away either . . . so we'll see. I hate the begging I have to do.